Sirius stared back at Ollivander, looking like he swallowed a lemon. "Mr. Granger?" he repeated softly.

"Yes, well, obviously that will only be your name magically. No need to change your signature, or what you call yourself. Oh!" Ollivander exclaimed, holding up a finger, apparently oblivious to Sirius's pale face, "and you will have to have to find a witch—not a wizard—to officiate the ceremony. Tedious, that gender magic, but to ensure the bonding settles properly, it must be done."

"Mr. Granger?" Sirius echoed again. His eyes moved slowly over to meet Hermione's. "I'm to marry you?"

Hermione's cheeks grew hot. "It does appear that way," she answered in a small voice.

Sirius turned back to the old wizard. "And you're very sure about this? All of it?" he asked, picking up the potion bottle.

"This predicament leaves you with very few options, Mr. Black. Two, as far as I can figure out. Either you continue on as you have, and risk magical outbursts and Ministry intervention, or you hide yourself. Hide yourself with her," he said sagely, and Hermione felt the blush creep higher up her face.

As Sirius began asking questions about the potion, Hermione fixated on the bottle, gazing absently into its inky depths. Clearly, Sirius was appalled with the idea of marrying her. Shocked at the very least. Disgusted at the worst. Her chest began to ache—she was so stupid for thinking she meant something to him. That he saw her as more than a warm body, or his just resurrector.

Lucius was right.

She hardly noticed as they proffered their thanks and said their goodbyes. Padfoot wound through Diagon Alley's crowd, trotting a few paces ahead. Every time the dog looked back, Hermione lowered her gaze and yanked her hood tighter around her face.

He didn't need to see the tears collecting in her eyes.

They returned to collect Lucius in silence. And when the blonde wizard tried to ask what had happened at Ollivander's, she simply glared. He didn't push it. Maybe he could sense the tension—probably relished in it.

Upon stepping back through the cabin's fireplace, and freeing Lucius from his magical confines, Hermione was surprised to find that snow had fallen in their absence. Flakes clung to the windows in shallow drifts, and beyond the glass, the woods were blanketed in white. It would have been beautiful, if her emotions hadn't felt like they'd been dangled from a cliff.

"Would someone care to explain what tragedy has occurred?" Lucius asked pleasantly, as if he were offering them tea.

Hermione glanced at Sirius, who had immediately busied himself in the little kitchen. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to look back at Lucius's expectant expression. "Ollivander says that to keep his magic from the Ministry, he must…well, we must…marry."

The last word was so faint, she didn't think Lucius even heard. But then his eyes narrowed, flickering between her and Sirius's turned back. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "My, my, Miss Granger. Quite the solution, isn't it? And Black—your apathy comes at quite the surprise." Sirius's hands stilled around a jar of peanut butter. "Afraid you'll disappoint the witch on her wedding night? I assure you, I would be more than happy to step in after—"

A blur of color whizzed past their heads and crashed into the back wall inches from Lucius's face. Hermione sucked in a breath, staring between the shattered plate, Sirius, his chest heaving like he ran a marathon, and Lucius, grinning with all the sinful delight of a Cheshire cat.

"Sirius!" she admonished, and he wrenched his gaze back to her. His expression softened, just barely when he caught her fury, her hurt. What happened to the man who promised to kiss me just hours ago? The man before her looked half a petulant child, half…well, half the wizard she'd known as a teenager, when he was cooped up in Grimmauld: sullen, brimming with rage.

Sirius's fingers flexed around the peanut butter jar, before he set it down with a soft thud. "Excuse me," is all he had to say, before ducking down to one of the lower cabinets and pulling out a bottle of whiskey she hadn't realized was there. He strode across the room in long, urgent strides, then was out the door. A shock of cold swept in as the door slammed shut.

Vaguely aware of Lucius still watching her, Hermione spun around, about to make a beeline for her bedroom when a memory stopped her feet. Her and Sirius, when he was still in Padfoot form. He had made her feel so safe this past week, so warm and comforted and wanted.

And apparently he wanted none of that anymore. Just whiskey and the cold.

Hermione steered herself towards the bathroom instead. Just as she began to shut the door, Lucius pressed inside and locked it behind himself.

"Lucius!" she cried, trying to reach around him.

He put up his hands—a gesture of peace. "I just want to talk," he professed, gazing down at her with honest apprehension. "Without Black watching through one of the windows."

She huffed and crossed to the toilet, dropping down on the shut lid. "You shouldn't have said that to him," she muttered, shoving her chin in her hands and glaring at the white title floor.

"You and I both know that it wasn't my teasing that riled Black up."

She bit her lip. He was right, of course. Always so staggeringly right. "Would you have thrown a plate at my head, if it was you finding out you had to be bonded in bloody matrimony to me?"

Lucius chuckled. He crossed in front of her, perching on the lip of the clawfoot tub. Watching her, the way he seemed so fond of doing. "I believe the plate was meant for my head. And the question, my dear, is moot—seeing as I am already bonded to Narcissa, despite her leaving me, marriage is off the table for you and I."

"But if you could?"

"No, I would not have thrown any of my father's good porcelain." Hermione thought his admission would make her feel better, but the hurt just swirled harder, darker. If she stared long enough at the floor, one of the tiles might crack. Would it feel better? To break things? Fingers drew towards her before she could find out, capturing her knee. Hermione's breathing hitched as Lucius's voice smoothed out, "You did not ask me why I would not have been upset."

The breath shuddered back out. "Why?"

"Because I am a selfish man," he said calmly, and she finally straightened her spine to look at him. "And I know that such a bonding is irreversible. Separation does not entail a divorce—I cannot be re-bonded, nor Narcissa if she found herself some foul American. Even death does not sever it. If we were to wed," he continued, drawing his touch away, "and I were to die, a piece of your magic would die with me. But to me, it would be worth it. Just to have my magic back…to have you for a moment…it would be worth it."

Hermione stared at her knee, at the ghost of his corrupting touch. "Why are you being kind to me?"

"Is it kind to tell you how selfish of a man I am?"

"It is kind to be truthful, for once."

He chuckled and pressed his palms into his thighs, groaning as he rose back to his feet. "Do not come to expect it, witch," he said, and a little shiver skated up her spine. "I find it no less challenging to aggravate a married woman than an un-wed one."

She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her mouth as they left the bathroom. "That's assuming I can convince Sirius to marry me. And if I can find a witch to perform the ceremony." That was a problem she hadn't begun to analyze; the wizard currently standing outside the front windows, whiskey bottle tipped into the air, would have to be solved first.

Hermione slipped on Sirius's leather jacket before heading out the door. He was sitting now, perched on the sliver of porch not covered in snow beneath the awning. Little puffs of breath swirled in the frigid air, but other than that, he did not seem to notice the cold.

Or her, as she sat down beside him. The bottle filled the gap between them. "Can I have some?" she asked quietly. His breath blew out with an indifferent huff, before he snatched the bottle and held it out. She took a swig. It went down like fire, all the way to her belly. Hermione swallowed once more, than unceremoniously upturned the bottle.

"Hey!" Sirius yelped, as the whiskey sank into the soft snow, trying to grab it. Hermione leaned out of his way. "I was drinking that."

Hermione tossed the bottle into the snow bank, just for good measure. "Guess you'll have to find something else to occupy you," she said tartly. "Like having a conversation with me, for instance."

Finally he looked at her, his expression a strange mixture of annoyance and guilt. Good, she thought, tucking her hands into the jacket pockets. He should feel bloody terrible.

"I shouldn't have thrown that plate," Sirius murmured, pressing his lips into a hard line.

"No," she agreed. "You shouldn't have. Or ignored me since leaving Ollivander's." At his silence, Hermione scooted closer, pleased when he didn't jerk away. She let her thigh press against his, the two shades of denim—his light, hers dark—sliding together. "Lucius told me that this Pureblood marriage bond, it…it will tear a piece of my magic away if you—" She sucked in an icy breath, willing herself to keep emotion from tinging the words. "If you die."

"When I die. There is no if, love."

"You really think I care about so much about my magic?"

"You should."

"Well I don't." She tried to reach for him, to touch his cheek, but Sirius looked sharply away. "Look at me," she commanded. He gave her nothing. Biting back her frustration, Hermione lowered herself to the ground, kneeling before him so he could not avoid her. Snow seeped into her knees, burning with its razor cold. She ignored it. It didn't matter. Only this man did, his hands which he accepted into hers—at least, he didn't fight back. Hermione held to his fingers like they were that tether, all those days ago in the Edge. Her lifeline back home. "Sirius, I need you to help me," she said whispered, her heart leaping as he finally lifted his eyes back to hers. "I can't do this prophecy alone. I can't do it with just Lucius," she continued, noting the way his eyes darkened. "I can't do it without you safe. Without your magic back."

His throat bobbed. "You'll find another way."

"No, we won't. Look at us, trapped in this cabin for a week. Waiting for a solution. Do you think the tunnel is going to wait too? That the end of all magic will just hang on another few weeks?"

"You don't understand," Sirius said hoarsely, shaking his head. The wind picked up, brushing dark curls across his cheeks. Hermione felt her own, whipping back, tugging towards the desolate woods. "You're too young—"

"You didn't seem to think so a few days ago," Hermione cut in, gripping his hands tighter. She drew one closer, pressing an open-mouth kiss into the palm of his hand.

Sirius blew out a breath, fingers stretching up to her cheek, further into her tangled hair. "It's not that, not…not really."

"Then what?"

"It's your magic, Hermione!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet, dragging her up with him. The hand in her hair clutched tighter, nails scraping her scalp. "A piece of you will die. When I am gone again, the part of your magic that is bonded to mine will claw its way out. From here," he said, pressing a hand against her sternum. "It will hurt like nothing else, and it will never grow back. You're too young to make that decision."

"A piece of me will die regardless," she whispered back, sinking in to the cradle of his palm, pushing her chest into his hand. "When the prophecy is fulfilled, and you—you play your part, it will not matter if my magic is whole or not. Because I won't be. I won't. But if you marry me," she murmured, pressing up onto her tiptoes, touching her nose to his rough jaw, "at least the rest of our world will have a chance."

Like a dam breaking, Sirius crushed her into his chest. Arms wrapped tighter than any rope, clutching her to his body like a current would sweep her away. Cheek against his heart. Listening to that steady thump-thump. Thump-thump. As long as she heard it, he would alive.

"Hermione," he breathed into her hair. "I want you to say no."

"No."

"That's not what I meant, is it?"

She wound her arms up to his neck. Kissed his chin. The tip of his nose. Finally his lips. "Marry me, Sirius Black?"

He chuckled sadly, kissing her back. "I should be asking you that."

Hermione pulled away, just enough so she could look into his grey eyes. "You'll do it?"

Sirius sighed as he smoothed a hand down her spine. It settled in the curve of her waist, fingers clutched to her soft flesh. "It wouldn't be like this in another life."

"We would never have any of it," she pointed out. "If you—if you hadn't died at the Ministry that night, I would just be Harry's friend. Your…acquaintance from the Order."

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. "I think we'd at least be friends, love."

"With a sixteen year-old know-it-all?"

"I was lonely. But," he said, drawing her in for another gentle kiss, "that's the thing about circumstances." In a quick, slightly awkward motion, Sirius swept an arm under her knees and lifted her up bridal-style. "One day you're dead, then the next there's a little witch in your arms, begging you to marry her."

"Sirius!" she shrieked, hastily clutching to his shoulders.

"Marry me, kitten?" Sirius whispered, the breath blowing warmth against her skin.

Hermione pressed her lips together in an effort to keep her smile from cracking open. "Are you going to throw any more plates?"

"To be fair, love, he did deserve it." At her scowl, he spun her around, and her arms flew up to wrap around his neck. "Okay, no throwing plates."

"No throwing plates," Hermione agreed, before kissing his whiskey-soured grin with her answer.

"McGonagall?" Sirius suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "She's too close to Kingsley. And I don't really fancy letting her know about my…dabbling in the dark arts quite yet." They were sat on the couch, her legs stretched out over the tops of Sirius's thighs. Lucius had claimed one of the armchairs, his gaze flicking intermittently to the couch since Sirius had dragged her calves to his lap. She had been surprised at Sirius's act of possessiveness, despite the reality that he had just agreed to marry her. Still, she couldn't help but savor the heavy warmth of his fingers—or the heat of Lucius's gaze, when she caught him watching. The memory of their conversation in the bathroom—Lucius's hand curled around her knee, stirred uncomfortably at her stomach, and she nonchalantly pulled her legs back to her side of the couch. "We need someone who won't question what we're doing," Hermione continued, ignoring Sirius's disappointed expression. "Or at least someone who won't overact."

"So not your friends," Lucius muttered.

She wanted to snap back, but of course he was right. He'd experienced her anguish over Ron and Ginny firsthand. "No," Hermione reluctantly agreed.

"Surely they're not all off the table. What of the girl Ollivander mentioned?" Sirius asked.

Luna. Of course—she'd been bloody stupid not to think of it before. Not only was Luna of age—and therefore able to leave Hogwarts at will—but she'd been far more supportive of Hermione's exploits than even Harry. "Sirius, that's perfect," Hermione gushed, grinning as she leaned over to press a kiss into his cheek. "We just need to figure out how to get her here—"

Lucius cleared his throat. "I won't have her here," he drawled, a contemptuous expression on his face.

Hermione's smile fell. "Why not?"

"This is, as I explained upon arriving here, a safe house."

"Shack," Sirius cut in. Hermione shushed him.

Lucius smirked. "As I was saying, two Order members knowing its whereabouts is two too many. I won't have Miss Lovegood waltzing in here as well."

"What do you expect us to do?" Hermione asked in tight voice. "Trek through the snow to have the ceremony at the owlery?"

Lucius rose to his feet. A sneer curled at his lip. "What an excellent idea. The cabin is warded of course, but Miss Lovegood will be able to pop in to the owlery without issue. I suggest you dress warmly for the ceremony," he added, glancing her up and down. "Pity Black won't get his bride in wedding robes."

They watched him stalk off to the bedroom. The door slammed shut. "Git," Sirius growled under his breath.

"Don't listen to him," Hermione murmured, shifting across the cushions until she was nestled into his side. Sirius lifted an arm behind her shoulders, drawing her closer. "I'll transfigure and charm the clothes to keep us both warm."

Sirius sighed and took hold over her legs again, drawing them over his thighs. "It shouldn't be like this," he muttered wearily. "You should have a proper wedding with proper robes. Friends, family…" Her throat closed up at the mention. "Not some old codger in a wretched owlery."

"We already discussed this," Hermione scolded gently. She pulled herself up to press another kiss into his jaw. "And that old codger already agreed to marry me. And Luna, well…Luna is more than enough of a friend."

"I suppose this means I'll owe her more than just a pint now."

Hermione giggled as untangled herself from his laps, slapping lightly as his hands reached back to grab at her. "Far more than a pint," she agreed, before darting away to go write the girl a letter.

Hermione tugged at her sleeves as she gazed out into the snow-dusted woods. She had transfigured a cream jumper into a knee-length sweater dress, the cowl neck snuggling up beneath her chin. After attempting to get him in something resembling dress robes, Sirius had conceded to wearing his leather jacket with dress slacks—and she had to admit, he looked fit. She turned back towards the cabin, smiling as he trudged towards her through the snow.

Behind him, Lucius watched from the window, his pale face shadowed through the gauzy curtains. She hastily turned away as Sirius took her hand.

"You okay, kitten?" Sirius murmured as their shoes began crunching across the carpet of leaves and snow.

"I just…it's hard to believe this is actually happening." After writing to Luna, she'd received a reply just the next morning. Though Hermione had been purposefully vague in her details, Luna had heartily agreed. If luck was at all on their side still, the girl would remain eager to help even after realizing she was to officiate a marriage bond between her nineteen-year-old friend and a dead man brought back to life. All things considered, it would be fairly low in Luna's realm of tolerance for the strange. At least, that's what Hermione had been telling herself since the owl flew off into the dreary sky.

Today, at least, the clouds had given way to clear blue, and the snow glittered in the early evening sunlight.

"I would have taken you to Vegas," Sirius said as they ducked under an arch of low branches. "I also would have kept my enemy far from the bridal suite."

Hermione blushed, glancing up from the ground to find Sirius grinning. "Vegas? What does a posh wizard like you know about Vegas?"

"I know Muggle things."

"You know about motorbikes and how to roll cigarettes. I habit which you passed down to Harry, by the way."

"I may have had an Elvis phase, when I was school," Sirius admitted. "Dreamed of finding a witch, whisking her across the sea to have an Elvis impersonator marry us on the spot."

Hermione laughed. "And now you just get me. No Elvis."

"Just you," he agreed, and the way he said it—so warm and sincere—made her want to tear up. Or leap into his arms. Probably both. "No Elvis."

Minutes later, a flash of pale blonde caught her eye through the branches. Hermione pulled Sirius to a stop beside her. Luna stood by the entrance to the stone owlery tower, gazing up at the window slits where half a dozen sleeping owls perched. Dressed in her Hogwarts jumper and grey skirt, the girl looked so starkly out of place in a way that had Hermione's heart tugging with nostalgia.

Sirius squeezed her hand. "Together?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded. "Together."

They stepped out of the tree cover and it to the small clearing. Luna turned a swirl of grey pleats, her eyes widening as Sirius led Hermione closer.

"Hello, Miss Lovegood," Sirius said, dipping his head in greeting.

Luna simply beamed. "Sirius Black, I have been waiting to meet you for some time now."

Sirius grinned. "Knew I liked you," he said, dropping her Hermione's hand to extend one to Luna. The girl shook it, just for a moment before marching forward and pulling Sirius into a polite hug. "Not so dead anymore, eh?" he said, as they broke apart.

"Your doing?" Luna asked, blinking at Hermione.

"Yeah," she admitted softly. "It's so good to see you—the fact that you even came despite my letter being horribly vague…"

"We're friends, Hermione," Luna said simply, tugging Hermione into a hug as well. This one lasted longer, the girl's charmed warmth seeping pleasantly through Hermione's dress. "I'll never forget what you and the others did for me."

Hermione gave her a tight smile, worried that her emotions would spill out before the ceremony even started. "Did you bring the book?" she asked, noticing the small leather satchel hanging behind Luna's hip.

"I was a bit surprised when you asked me to bring a book on Pureblood marriage customs," Luna said as she dipped a hand into the bag. "But it all makes sense now, doesn't it?" She pulled out the little green-bound book, smiling as the sun flashed against the gold cover clasp.

"You're okay with this?" Sirius asked, frowning at Luna's unaffected smile. "Hermione and I need to be married. Well, I need to be married to her."

"I am quite familiar with the customs, Mr. Black. My own parents married outside the traditional bond, but I suppose that was quite unusual. I am surprised that you and Hermione have decided to marry so soon, but that is the beauty of life and magic and love, I think." Luna smiled broadly. "The unexpected often turns out so much better than the planned for." She reached out, grabbing Sirius's wrist and placing his hand in Hermione's. "Shall we get started? It'll be dark soon, and we won't want the owls listening too closely."

Hermione expected the bonding ceremony to be something out of a fairy tale. An explosion of magic—a terrible swelling of her heart. But in the end, it was just words, carefully dictated by Luna's delicate, steady voice. Words that washed over the quiet woods, mixing with the soft calls of birds and forest creatures wandering in the distance. A sense of peace took hold of the moment, settling deep into Hermione's bones. And as Luna directed Hermione to face Sirius, to touch her lips to his, the gentle magic of the moment slipped in her as easily as breathing.

"In the eyes of the Old Magics, I now declare you witch and husband," Luna concluded.

Sirius was still watching her, sweet tenderness flooding his grey eyes. "Witch," he echoed.

"Husband," she whispered back.

He kissed her again, more deeply with his arms trapping her to his chest, and Hermione had to fight the moan from escaping her lips.

A delighted chiming of laughter sounded from beside them. Reluctantly, Hermione pulled away from the kiss. Sirius's hand remained at the small of her back, smoothing brazenly and sending shiverers up her spine. "Is that it?" Hermione asked.

Luna gave them both a knowing smile. "I'm believe Mr. Granger is well aware of the final step, before the bonding is cemented."

A flush swept up her cheeks as Hermione realized what was waiting—and who was waiting—for her back at the cabin.

After profusely thanking Luna for her help, they walked hand-in-hand back to the cabin in comfortable silence. The sun was just beginning to fall in the west, bathing the forest in shades of orange and gold. As Sirius pulled the door open, hinges creaked, and her gaze fell on Lucius in the armchair, flicking through a book without an apparent care in the world.

"Do remember to put up a silencing spell," he drawled without even a glance up.

Embarrassment that he would be sitting just outside the door heated Hermione's cheeks, but at Sirius's firm touch, she ignored Lucius and pushed into the bedroom. As Sirius stepped up to the bed, Hermione faced the door. She threw up the charm. Warded the lock for good measure. And when she finally turned, heart hammering like a hummingbird's, she found Sirius just standing there, only his jacket discarded.

She was nervous. Stupidly nervous. Ridiculously, even. They had kissed before—made out, even. And it wasn't as if it was her first time. Thankfully, she'd already taken care of that in Ron's dim bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

Merlin, I lost my virginity at my then-dead husband's house.

The thought definitely didn't help ease the nerves.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione stepped forward. She wanted to itch under Sirius's searching gaze, one hand coming up scratch at the back of her neck.

"Hermione?"

Her fingers stilled. "Yes?" she squeaked.

An amused smile flickered over his face. Sirius closed the distance between them, gently pulled her hand back down, and tugged her to sit beside him on the mattress. "I think we should talk about it," he said, holding her hand in his lap, thumb smoothing over the pulse point of her wrist.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know why I'm suddenly so nervous. You agreed to marry me—you did marry me. We've been…close, before. It's just…"

"New?" She nodded. "Can I tell you something, kitten?"

"Of course."

"This here," he started, lifting her hand to his chest and pressing her palm against the silky shirt. His heartbeat thudded like a frightened thing, desperate to break free. Her eyes widened as he continued softly, "I'm terrified too."

Hermione drew her hand away. "Of me?" she asked, brows furrowing as she twisted to face him better.

He studied her face, eyes sweeping over her cheeks, her lips, her neck. "I'm afraid of hurting you. Breaking this…this trust you seem to have in me. One I didn't earn. Merlin, Hermione, you were just on the edge of my life before I died. Now you're at the center. And now this," he said, gesturing between them, "this bond. It will hurt you, in the end. I don't see a way around it." Sirius rose. Even with his back to her, she could see the tension carved into his shoulders.

The bedsprings groaned as she stood and padded over to him. Rising to her tiptoes, Hermione tucked her chin into the crook of his neck. Wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm afraid, Sirius, but not of you. Not this," she whispered, smoothing a hand lower over his stomach.

He covered her hand, stilling it. "Are you sure, kitten?"

She chuckled into his skin. "How many times are you going to ask me that before you believe me?"

Her laughter—her touch—apparently it was enough to convince him, at least in this moment. Sirius turned in her arms and pulled out of her grasp, only to take one of his own. One large hand clutched her hip, the other latching on to the side of her neck. He dragged her into a kiss, drawing a moan from her throat as the lower hand skimmed beneath the dress and up her thigh. "Hermione," he murmured, searing kisses into her jaw.

"I want you, Sirius," she whimpered as that hand kneaded the curve of her arse. "Please."

He released his attention on her neck with a slick pop and dropped to his knees. Hermione watched, helpless to move, as he carefully pulled off one boot and sock. He chucked it, and Hermione laughed as it whizzed over her shoulder and smacked into the opposite wall. "Sirius!" she scolded through her laughter as he repeated the act with the other shoe.

"No time for delicacies, love," he murmured, grabbing hold of the dress's hem. Sirius bunched it up over her knees, before pressing a kiss into the inside of each one.

Hermione gasped at the lick of fire sent racing up to her core. "Oh, Sirius," she whimpered, shutting her eyes as he shoved the skirt higher. With the wool gathered around her hips, Hermione felt his gaze on her knickers—black lace, the best ones she'd managed to pack.

Fingers brushed the fabric, just below her sharp hip bone. "Did you wear these for me, love?" he asked in a low voice.

"Just for you."

Sirius growled at her response, then pressed a kiss into each hip bone—again, heat raced through her, but this time something deeper than desire danced in the flames. Magic, she realized, as he kissed the spot between her legs.

It sparked harder—deeper—and Hermione would have stumbled into the bed, if it wasn't for his hands forcing her still. "Please," Hermione moaned, tangling her fingers in his curls as he laved over the lace panties.

"Please what?"

"I want to feel you."

Sirius chuckled, then she felt him rise to his feet—the dress moving with him. "Arms up," he commanded, and Hermione was more than happy to oblige.

Standing in just her bra and knickers, Hermione finally opened her eyes. She gasped at what she found. Sirius's pupils had blown open, the black nearly swallowing the dark grey. He stared at her body like a starved man.

A man she was thrilled to be feeding.

Hermione lifted her hands to his chest as he brought his to her own. "May I?" she whispered, fingers hovering over the top button.

His throat bobbed before he nodded.

Smiling at his sudden quiet, Hermione worked deftly over the line of buttons. As each one popped open, the sliver of a toned chest and soft hair grew wider, until she was practically shoving the slip of fabric off his arms. As her hands dropped lower to his trousers's fastenings, fingers clawed at the back of her bra.

"Impatient man," she murmured, peeking up through her lashes as she tugged the zipper down.

"Infuriating witch."

"I think it's my bra that's doing the infuriating," she mused, shoving the trousers down over his hips to reveal navy boxer briefs.

Without warning, Sirius grabbed her hips and spun her around, clutching her to his chest—to his hardness—while the other hand snaked up to the bra. "All the more reason to get the damn thing off," he breathed out, breaking the clasp open with a grunt.

He didn't stop after the bra had been flung aside. Flipping her back around, Sirius dipped in to kiss her greedily, all the while backing her into the mattress. Hermione fell back with a soft exclamation, barely managing to scramble into the center before those lips returned, and all she could do was whimper as those fingers pulled down the knickers too.

She shut her eyes at the first brush of a thumb against her core. Magic poured out of him, into her—swirling in the air, tinging it with some scent that could only be the combination of their two selves.

"Open your eyes for me, love."

She obeyed. He was hovering over her, unabashedly nude. Hermione swallowed. He noticed and grinned—so cheekily, she wanted to smack it off his jaw. Or kiss it.

She sat halfway up, dragging his mouth back to hers.

That works.

Her magic cried out as his body enveloped hers—all wetness and sweat and warmth and hardness. His urgent growls fueled her own whimpers, his touch building the well of magic in her core until she could do nothing except cry out, "Sirius, love, please!" without any consideration to the pet name that felt so different on her own lips.

He obliged, and when he slipped between her legs, tears pricked at her eyes. He was more than a man moving on top of her—with her. More than a wizard wielding a wand. Sirius was both at once—man and wizard, filling her with magic and lust and need and heat. She clutched to urgent hips like an anchor in the midst of a roiling sea, like he was the only thing in this world tethering her from spinning away into madness. Or maybe he was the madness, and her body cried out to stay there with him.

Magic wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Like she was awake for the very first time.

Men weren't supposed to feel like this.

Like she'd never been touched before.

But with Sirius, with his length deep inside her, and his lips ravishing her tender breasts, it was everything Hermione had ever longed for. A magic—a lust—so great that when she cried out with completion, and he finished seconds later with a desperate thrust—Hermione sank back into the pillows as her mind drifted elsewhere, off wandering in that hazy place of pure, blinding, bliss.

When her limbs felt capable of movement, Hermione rolled her cheek over on the pillow. Sirius lay beside her on top of the sheets, stretched out on his back with one arm flung over her waist. Fingers drew shapes into her hip, and Hermione took a long moment just to relish in the touch.

"Sirius?" she whispered, when her breathing seemed capable of speech.

"Yes."

"Hm?"

"Yes, that was the single most incredible shag I have ever had the privilege of partaking in."

Hermione rolled onto her stomach so she could face him, blushing at the way his gaze swept over her body. "That's an easy to say when you haven't shagged anyone since before Azkaban."

"Even so," he said simply, a smirk flashing across his face. Sirius shifted closer, nuzzling at her shoulder with open-mouthed kisses. "The most incredible…delicious…mind-blowing…sex…I've ever had."

Her cheeks felt hot enough to catch fire. "Is it always like that? With the…consummation?"

"So breathtakingly bloody magical?" At her nod, he pulled away, landing back against the pillow with a small frown. "Not that I had intimate discussions about my married friends' and family's sex lives, but…no, I don't believe so. This was something different."

"I feel different," Hermione mused quietly. "More filled" At his suggestive eyebrow raise, she rolled her eyes and added, "No, not like that. It's my magic, Sirius. Or yours, maybe." She settled closer, her cheek flat against his rising and falling chest. Legs intertwined at the ankles, fingers finding purchase on skin. "You had all this magic, after coming home from the Edge. I think, maybe, that you gave me some of it.

"Let me know if you'll be needing more of that magic, love," Sirius teased, suddenly rolling half on to her and peppering her in kisses. "I'm willing to share."

Once Sirius had drifted off to sleep, Hermione eased out of bed and buttoned his dress shirt over herself, the length just long enough to cover her knickers, once she found them on the other side of the room. After casting a whispered Accio for the contraceptive potion in her bag, Hermione downed a mouthful of the foul liquid. Even after stomaching the potion while dating Ron, she hadn't grown accustomed to the aftertaste.

After checking again that she hadn't woken Sirius, Hermione stepped into the dark sitting room and over to the kitchen. She had just managed to drink a glass of water when something creaked.

"Were Black's needs satisfied?" a smooth voice drawled from behind her.

Hermione set the glass down and whirled around. "What?" Her eyes narrowed on Lucius stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head. Even in the dim light, she saw the smirk, the amused flash of his eyes.

"His magical trace," Lucius clarified, raising one brow.

"You're not funny."

"You are."

Hermione bit down on her lip. "We haven't tested his magic yet," she muttered, slamming the cabinet shut.

Lucius chuckled. "Didn't want to risk the aurors coming with you tangled up in bed with a dead man?"

Despite knowing he was only goading her—that he wanted a reaction—Hermione strode towards the couch. Hands on her hips, she glowered down at him. "Better than an evil one."

His lips parted into a delighted smile. "Evil, am I? You didn't think so in our lovely months together before all of this. Or yesterday, in the bathroom."

"That's because you were being helpful then."

Lucius pushed up, his legs widening so that if she were to step forward, she'd be trapped between those knees. "Testy little witch, aren't you? Tell me, did Black satisfy your needs? I'm more than happy to fulfill my side of the prophecy, if you wish." He reached up, one pale hand cutting through the darkness. As his fingers brushed her bare thigh, a spark of desire spasmed through her, and Hermione stepped abruptly away.

"Don't," she warned, hating the breathy air to her voice. Hermione swallowed, trying to calm her body's reaction to his simple touch. "I'll have you know that Sirius was more than I could have hoped for—ever asked for."

His eyebrows rose—something that was supposed to be surprise, Hermione assumed, but she saw the flicker of disappointment there too. "It is no matter," he said easily. "I don't compete with Sirius Black."

The corners of her mouth twitched into a mocking smile. "Don't you, though? Hermione murmured, straightening to her full height. He drank her in, not knowing she was poised to spit him right back out. "All the touches when he's not in the room. The snide remarks—the glances, when Sirius has his hands on me. You want me, Lucius. And I will admit that a part me wanted you to. But Sirius, he has me. And I don't," she continued, lowering her voice as his eyes glinted dangerously, "ever need a man like you."

She spun away before he could call her out on the uncertainty behind the sharp words.